


The Art of Perfection

by create_serenity (Sivany)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco, Bets & Wagers, Draco has a perfect arse, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, H/D Smoochfest, Harry poses naked, M/M, art class, stupid bets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivany/pseuds/create_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry cursed the day he’d ever made the stupid bet with Ron because that bet was what had led to him being naked in front of a Muggle art class. Of course Draco Malfoy had to be taking the class, because that’s just how Harry’s life worked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Author LJ Name: create_serenity  
> Songspiration: I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked - Ida Maria  
> Prompter: huldrejenta  
> Title: The Art of Perfection  
> Prompt Number: 170  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, minor appearances by Ron/Hermione  
> Summary: Harry cursed the day he’d ever made the stupid bet with Ron because that bet was what had led to him being naked in front of a Muggle art class. Of course Draco Malfoy had to be taking the class, because that’s just how Harry’s life worked.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): None  
> Epilogue compliant? Nope!  
> Word Count: 19,246  
> Author's Notes: Thank you to avrildulac for betaing and to huldrejenta for leaving such a great prompt. I'd been wanting to write an art class fic for a while so this worked out perfectly.

Harry cursed the day he’d ever made that stupid bet with Ron.

 

It had seemed oh-so-hilarious, whilst enjoying one too many pints of Branwen’s Best Bitter, to agree that if the Canons won their next match he would pose naked in public. The Canons hadn’t won a single game all season and the idea that they would somehow best the Montrose Magpies was completely ridiculous.

 

Of course the whole thing hadn’t seemed nearly so hilarious the next day when he was sitting in the stands of the stadium with his head in his hands being mocked by a very delighted Ron. Of course  _he_  was delighted – if the Canons had lost he would have been the one posing naked. Right at that moment Harry really wished he’d never heard of Quidditch, or Bludgers. Especially not the Bludger that had knocked out the Magpie’s Seeker in a spectacular piece of luck that had seen the Canons Seeker grab the Snitch just in time to win the match by a grand total of ten points. Sadly it had not proven to be quite so lucky for Harry and Ron had delighted in pointing out that ten points was more than enough to count as a win.

 

It was why Harry was here, standing outside a bland, concrete building, on some bland, concrete steps, gazing at a set of glass doors as if they were about to murder him.

 

“Go on, mate, off you go,” Ron said, giving him a prod that he probably thought was encouraging. Harry opened his mouth to protest, yet again, but Ron held up a warning finger.

 

“No more excuses,” he said, and Harry could quite happily have punched the smirk right off his face in that moment, “You’re just lucky Hermione persuaded me that having you parade naked in the wizarding world would seriously effect your career as an Auror, otherwise I’d have had you doing this in the Ministry.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. What Hermione had said couldn’t exactly be called ‘persuasion’. It was more a case of her fuming and yelling, until Ron had backed down and agreed with what she had said. The only reason Hermione hadn’t made him call off the whole thing was that Harry had somehow felt it necessary to honour the bet. Hermione had huffed at that and ranted a bit more about ‘stupid male pride’ and then proceeded to arrange the whole thing.

 

It was why Harry was about to enter this building and be subjected to standing naked in front of several Muggle artists who would then proceed to ogle him and presumably at some point, actually draw him. Harry strongly suspected it was Hermione’s idea of revenge for his own stubbornness and right now he really wished he’d been less stubborn about the whole thing. Exactly how important was his pride in comparison to keeping his tackle in his pants?

 

“In you go!” Ron said, sounding so gleeful that Harry found himself automatically stepping forwards and entering the building, if only to prevent a certain punching incident from taking place. He was just thankful that Hermione’s plan meant that Ron could not observe his humiliation first hand.

 

 

********************

 

“Ah, Mr Potter, so good of you to join us.”

 

The woman running the class was not at all what Harry had expected. She looked only about ten years older than Harry, but had an air about her that slightly reminded him of Mrs Weasley when she was worrying about how skinny he was. It was not the ideal thing to be reminded of before getting naked, though he firmly told himself that he wasn’t quite so skinny any more. Several years of Auror training and not having to panic about potential death at the hands of a maniacal snake-man had layered enough flesh and muscles on his bones that he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with how he looked naked.

 

Not being entirely uncomfortable though was in no way in the same league as being entirely willing to get naked in front of a group of strangers.

 

“Uh, call me Harry,” he said, as she ushered him through to a small room and began to fuss around with a hot water urn.

 

“In that case you should call me Petra,” she said, smiling at him as if talking with people who were about to get naked was a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence. “Would you like some tea?”

 

Harry nodded dumbly and realised that since she ran an art class this probably was a perfectly normal state of affairs to her.

 

“Um, what do I…?” he started lamely as she fussed over his milk and sugar preferences, cutting him off and forcing him to accept the cup of tea she handed over.

 

“You can get changed in here,” she said, as he took a small sip of the drink, realising too late that sipping it so soon was not the brightest move he’d ever made. “Just slip on the bathrobe when you’re done and I’ll come and get you in about ten minutes when all the students have arrived.”

 

Harry nodded automatically, his mind already running through various scenarios that might get him out of the situation. Perhaps he could feign illness? He cursed himself for not bringing a Puking Pastel with him and wondered if he could pull off an attempt at fake passing-out. Probably not, he thought regretfully, as Petra looked at him with what seemed to be a sympathetic smile.

 

“Ever done this before?” she asked, continuing when Harry shook his head dumbly. “Well, nothing to worry about. I’ll show you how to pose once you’re out there.”

 

Harry, who felt that how he was going to pose was hardly the issue when he was going to be stark-bollock naked, was not reassured. She lent forwards and patted his arm.

 

“Drink up,” she said, giving him a conspiratorial wink and heading for the door. “You’ll need the warmth once you’re out there.”

 

She left Harry alone in the room, with horrible thoughts about cold rooms and the effect that would have on certain parts of his anatomy running through his head.

 

********************

 

Fifteen minutes later Harry found himself stood on a raised platform in nothing but a bathrobe whilst at least ten Muggles fussed about behind the easels that were set up in a semi-circle around him.

 

He took a moment to really wish that Petra wasn’t drawing everyone’s attention to him by announcing his presence and telling everyone his name, but then the more violent wish to be wearing more clothes than he was took over.

 

He glanced back towards the door he had come from and as he moved his head caught a glimpse of the person standing besides the easel on the far right of the arc. There wasn’t much to see, just a flash of blond hair and the glint of… well, the glint of something shiny that had caused the light to reflect in a strange way, and then the figure was gone, back behind the easel, apparently finding the paper more fascinating than Harry. If disrobement hadn’t been imminent Harry might have been amused by the idea that this person who obviously didn’t even think him worth glancing at was going to have to spend the next couple of hours drawing him.

 

As it was though the idea of having to take off his robe in front of all these people was enough to take the humour out of any situation. In fact, Harry indulged in the brief wish that everyone was showing as little interest in him as that man obviously was, before he was interrupted by the realisation that Pertra was looking at him expectantly.

 

“Uh… what?” he asked, loosing his train of thought.

 

“I said, if you’ll just take your robe off, Harry, we can get started,” Petra said, giving him the sort of kind look that one might give to an invalid who didn’t have long to live. The fact that she obviously thought he was a bit cracked in the head really wasn’t helping his state of mind, and he gave brief consideration to the merits of faking passing out again.

 

In the end though there was nothing else for it but to reach slowly for the tie holding the robe closed and undo it with fingers that suddenly felt about as agile as a bunch of bananas.

 

The robe fell open and Harry removed it as slowly as he possibly could, until he realised that Petra was watching him, still with that same kind look and he decided it would be better to just get it over with. Unfortunately he then yanked out his arms so fast that he became entangled with the sleeve and he did a sort of undignified hop across the platform, shaking his arm to try and dislodge the material.

 

There was another glint from the easel on the right, and this time a glimpse of a pale, long fingered hand accompanied by something that sounded very much like a smothered snort of laughter, and then Petra was helping him with the bathrobe and he knew he was blushing an interesting shade of crimson.

 

“Er… sorry,” he muttered, and tried to look as dignified as he possibly could when he was painfully aware his most private parts were now on show to nearly a dozen strangers. At least it wasn’t as cold as he had feared, which meant at least that said private parts were looking as decent as they could in the circumstances. Harry grasped onto this modicum of comfort as Petra directed him into his pose.

 

He ended up with one leg raised on a low stool, his body and head both angled towards the left of the room, which at least meant that only half the people drawing him had a full frontal view. Whoever the glinting man was at the far right, he probably had a spectacular view of Harry’s arse.

 

Once he was settled and Petra had addressed the class, giving them tips on how to draw him that Harry preferred not to listen to, the drawing began. At first Harry watched those in his eye line as they messed about with pencils and took speculative measurements by squinting at their outstretched fingers, but then he began to wonder  _what_ exactly they were measuring and decided it was better not to look at all.

 

In the end he fastened his eyes very firmly on the left-hand side wall and thought about the reports he was going to have to write on Monday about his latest cases.

 

By the end of the first hour he’d decided that this wasn’t so bad after all. Providing he ignored everyone else he could almost forget that he was naked, and during the times when he stretched out his stiff limbs he’d glanced over at the far right easel again, wondering who was behind it. The man there seemed to be hiding, ducking out of sight each time Harry looked around so that though he caught a few more glints of light and glimpses of pale blond hair, he saw nothing more. The others in the class seemed less shy and by the time the break came around he had seen them all, ranging from a young girl of about twenty, all the way to a kindly looking man who looked to be in his early seventies, and a whole lot of variations in between.

 

To his relief Harry was allowed to don his dressing gown again during the break and was offered a second cup of tea by the elderly gentleman who spent rather a long time talking to him politely about how difficult it was to get people willing to model ‘in the buff’ as he put it and how grateful they all were that he had agreed to come along. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of all this gratitude over his naked body and was glad of the chance to excuse himself to use the bathroom.

 

It was as he was crossing the room to the exit that he finally saw the man from behind the far easel. He was standing with his back to the room, chatting with the young woman who had spent a particularly long time earlier squinting speculatively at Harry with her pencil held up to measure Merlin knew what. Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could see that whatever the man’s reasons for hiding behind the easel, they were certainly nothing to do with his body. He was tall and lithe, with his blond hair cropped close at the nape of his neck, but lengthening towards the top of his head and falling in a way that suggested he hadn’t really tried to style it at all. Harry knew that was a lie, his own hair was the reality of what happened when you didn’t try very hard, a hairstyle like the one that man wore was the result of very careful grooming.

 

Not that Harry was paying too much attention to his hair – no, his eyes were drawn to the tight black trousers the man was wearing, the ones that made Harry wonder how the hell anyone could get them on in the first place, and that led his attention nicely up to the man’s arse, which… sweet Merlin, was a sight that Harry felt could quite possibly induce him to produce an artistic masterpiece should he ever be lucky enough to have it naked in front of him.

 

His body threatened a most unfortunate reaction if his thoughts continued in that direction and Harry dove for the safety of the toilets to relieve the pressure in his bladder before the class resumed.

 

The second half of the class passed relatively quickly and Harry entertained himself with thoughts of exactly what the front of the mystery man might look like, deciding that if it was anything like half so attractive as his arse then he would definitely be worth a second, and maybe even a third glance. Not that the man would have any interest in Harry. Harry wasn’t so conceited to think that the admiring glances he got from witches – and wizards now he had come out as gay – were anything more than a product of his fame. Here in the Muggle world he was nothing more than a slightly scruffy looking man with interestingly coloured eyes. No man who looked and dressed like the one now drawing him would ever give him a second glace. Hell, he was barely giving him a first glance despite the fact that he was naked.

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably and felt his cheeks colour. He wasn’t conceited, but he would have liked to continue under the illusion that he wasn’t completely repulsive.

 

Realising that train of thought was not at all helpful when standing around far too overexposed Harry cut it off quickly and spent the rest of the hour in quiet contemplation of his reports.

 

The oddest part of the whole evening came at the end. The mysterious man had already left – Harry had heard him moving around five minutes before the end of class and a feigned a stretch long enough to catch a glimpse of that tantalisingly perfect arse as the man put his supplies away in the cupboard. It meant that when Harry found himself being invited to gaze on several half finished portraits of his own naked body he had absolutely no idea what the man had drawn. Not that he was giving it too much thought, the worrying parade of partly-formed interpretations of his body were distracting enough, though he at least took some comfort from the fact that most of the artists seemed as keen to avoid drawing his private parts as he was to put them on show.

 

He left sometime later with the equally comforting thought that he only had to endure this for two more weeks before he never had to worry about being naked in public again.

 

********************

 

The following week saw him back at the art class changing into his bathrobe with slightly less trepidation than the week before. He had convinced himself during the intervening time that the whole thing hadn’t actually been that bad. No one had laughed, or run away screaming at the sight of his naked body and all in all losing the bet could have resulted in something much worse than being gazed at for a couple of hours by Muggles with a penchant for drawing naked bodies.

 

When the time came he removed his robe with much more dignity than he had the week before and was able to arrange himself in his pose again with little more than a slight blush. He didn’t even bother to look round at the mysterious man, who he knew was there again, deciding that there was no point in indulging in curiosity about a Muggle man who obviously wasn’t interested in him.

 

The first hour passed uneventfully and when Harry stepped gladly down from the platform, swathing himself in the bathrobe once again, he was surprised to find Petra beckoning him over to where she was standing in conversation with Mr-Perfect-Arse.

 

This was definitely not on his list of things he wanted to do today. Why would he want to talk to what he suspected was going to be a very attractive man, whilst wearing a ridiculously oversized robe, having been naked in his presence just moments before? It was the height of humiliation and Harry knew his cheeks were heating rapidly as he made his way slowly across the room.

 

He came to a halt in front of the man, lifted his eyes away from those ridiculously tight trousers to the man’s face and realised in one heart stopping moment that he’d been wrong before. Talking to an attractive man whilst wearing an oversized robe, having been naked in his presence just moments before, was not the height of humiliation. The very pinnacle of humiliation was when that man turned out to be none other than Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry gaped, whilst Petra rambled on about who-knew-what, possibly making some sort of introduction. Harry didn’t care. He was too busy gaping at the fact that Draco Malfoy –  _Draco Malfoy_  – was undeniably, unspeakably gorgeous and for reasons best known to himself attending a Muggle art class.

 

Actually, the fact that he was in a Muggle art class was not the point holding most of Harry’s attention right now, what was holding his attention was the fact that Malfoy was wearing an earring – a fucking diamond earring – and a smirk that clearly said,  _‘I’ve seen you stark naked and I’m not about to let you forget it.’_

 

That, combined with ridiculous blond hair that flopped in front of steely, grey eyes, and a figure that was possibly even better from the front made Harry’s stomach churn and his heart pound and blood rush to some unfortunate places in his body. He was just working on developing a burning desire to have a hole open up beneath his feet so that he could vanish from sight when he realised that he’d gone bright red and Petra was giving him that kindly look again.

 

“Well, Potter. Fancy seeing you here,” said Draco, with what Harry thought was a rather unfair amount of poise. Then again, Draco had been pre-warned about this meeting. He had known Harry was here, which was definitely an unfair advantage. Draco had been looking at him naked for the last hour – not to mention last week – and  _oh fuck he’d been naked in front of Draco twice now and he was never going to live this down._

 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” Petra interjected, before Harry could think of a suitable response that didn’t involve him bolting from the room and never coming back.

 

“Potter and I went to school together,” Draco said, smirking harder and clearly very much enjoying Harry’s discomfort.

 

“Oh how lovely!” Petra gushed, which seemed to Harry to be a little over the top. There was nothing lovely that he could see about meeting someone you went to school with and finding that you had unwittingly been naked in their company on more than one occasion. It was far worse when that person had been your biggest rival at school and the last time you’d seen them they had been crying in a courtroom. It became a complete disaster when it turned out that you’d been ogling their arse and found them stupidly attractive, even when they were subjecting you to a smirk that suggested the joke was entirely on you.

 

“Um,” said Harry, and completely failed to follow it up with anything remotely useful.

 

“Well now, this is a surprise,” Petra continued, seeming oblivious to Harry’s discomfort and Draco’s obvious enjoyment. “Draco’s always been a bit of a mystery to us. Won’t tell us anything at all about his life. Maybe you can dish the dirt, Harry. Tell me, what does Draco do?”

 

It was entirely inappropriate, Harry thought, to ask someone to ‘dish the dirt’ on someone they had gone to school with, whilst said someone was standing right in front of you, but Petra seemed to have missed this lesson in social niceties for she continued, “And perhaps you could tell us when he got that fascinating tattoo? The design is really quite remarkable and we can’t get a word out of him about it.”

 

Harry gaped, and Draco flushed an interesting shade of pink, the smirk suddenly dropping away as if it had never been there.

 

“That’s because he knows it was a stupid thing to do,” Harry said, before he’d really though about the words. Petra looked put out, but Harry was too busy turning his horrified eyes in Draco’s direction and checking to make sure that the other man wasn’t about to break the Statute of Secrecy by drawing his wand to hex him right then and there. Harry almost felt he deserved it after that stupid comment.

 

“I seem to remember, Potter,” said Draco, his voice low and dangerous, “That it was something stupid you did earlier that year that led to me having to get the tattoo in the first place.”

 

White-hot anger surged through Harry, and his hand automatically went to his hip, where his wand would have been had he not been dressed in a bathrobe. The feel of the material under his fingers brought him back to reality and he snatched his hand away quickly, hoping Petra hadn’t seen the gesture.

 

“That’s no excuse,” he snapped, the truth in Draco’s words stinging more now than they had when he’d used the very same argument to swing Draco’s trial in his favour. “Anyway I thought it was long gone,” he added, because actually he really had. The fact that the tattoo had faded to an easily disguised scar on Voldemort’s demise had made it a lot more difficult to track down and arrest former Death Eaters in the time since.

 

To his surprise, Draco made a noise that sounded both frustrated and distressed, and yanked up his sleeve, exposing his left forearm. Harry’s gaze dropped, then his jaw followed and he stared at what had once been the Dark Mark, but was now simply a snake coiled around Draco’s arm, its head just below the inside of his elbow.

 

“Oh,” said Harry, when nothing else occurred. Then he followed it up with, “Interesting,” and tore his gaze away to check Draco’s reaction. The anger seemed to have cooled, instead those steel grey eyes were now fixed on him expectantly, as if he were studying Harry for his reaction, as much as Harry was doing the same to him.

 

“Well,” said Harry, trying to pull himself together, “Perhaps I should go and use the bathroom before we restart. Nice to see you, Malfoy.”

 

He fled for the door and whilst he was pissing wondered why the hell he’d said  _nice to see you_. It was definitely not nice to see Draco and he was definitely not looking forward to having to go back upstairs and get naked knowing that Draco was in the room. In fact he was giving serious thought to running away right now, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that his wand was upstairs, along with his clothes, he probably would have done it.

 

As it was there was no way to get to his clothes without passing through the main room where everyone was gathered, and his mind was too confused to face explaining to Petra why he was leaving, and he was pretty sure that his shoddy acting skills were as far away from a competent attempt at fake passing out as they had ever been. He settled for heading upstairs, avoiding looking at the easel where he now knew Draco stood, and taking his position with as much dignity as he could muster.

 

He spent the remaining hour trying to keep his thoughts very firmly away from Draco Malfoy and why he was here, and why he had such a perfect arse, and such perfect hair, and such pale, soft looking skin. Instead he tried to keep his mind on exactly how he was going to kill both Hermione and Ron for ever getting him into a situation where he was naked in front of Draco in the first place.

 

He was thankful to find that Draco had once again left early – so thankful that he gave only brief thought to why – accepted Petra apologies for what she now clearly realised were intrusive and deeply personal questions, and redressed slowly. By the time he made his way down the stairs, everyone had left, which was why he was more surprised than he really should have been when he stepped out the main doors to find Draco leaning on the low wall that bordered the path.

 

It was unfortunate that the sight of Draco, arms folded, projecting an aura of absolute confidence mixed up Harry’s thoughts enough that he came to a halt without realising it, gawping stupidly at Draco, who simply smirked back as if this was the reaction he’d been hoping for.

 

“Really, Potter,” he drawled, when some internal clock obviously told him Harry had spent long enough gaping at him. “With clothes like that it’s no wonder you were so keen to pose naked. If I had to go around wearing such atrocities I’d want to strip off as well. I’m almost embarrassed to be seen talking to you.”

 

Despite his words when Harry glared and started to walk away Draco fell into step beside him.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry snapped after a while, when Draco said nothing but continued to stride along besides him as if this were perfectly normal. Harry’s nerves, already frayed by the events of the evening were threatening to give under the pressure and he was rather afraid he’d do something he regretted if Draco didn’t go away.

 

“I thought we could go for coffee.” Draco had spoken as if this too were completely normal and not so far outside the bounds of reality that Harry was beginning to seriously wonder if this whole thing were some sort of twisted nightmare. Perhaps he hadn’t lost the bet; perhaps he’d simply dreamed the whole thing. He waited a moment in case he woke up, then he looked around in the hope of spotting some sign that this were a dream. A giant walking plant or a flock of flying sheep perhaps. When neither were forthcoming he simply said, “ _What?”_

 

“Coffee, Potter. You do know what coffee is don’t you?”

 

“I don’t like coffee,” he informed Draco crossly, because the question was just too patronising to give Draco the satisfaction of an answer.

 

For some reason though this seemed to delight Draco.

 

“Me neither,” he said companionably, “Horrible stuff. You can have hot chocolate instead.”

 

Harry couldn’t in good conscience declare a hatred for hot chocolate so this time he went with, “I haven’t got any Muggle money, and what happened to being embarrassed about my clothes?”

 

“Your clothes are terrible, Potter,” Draco agreed, eyeing him speculatively as if this might simply be a temporary inconvenience. “Since you seem determined to keep them on though I suppose I’ll have to put up with them until the next time you decide to take them off for me.”

 

He followed this with a smirk of such depravity that Harry felt himself blush to the roots of his hair, even though he was pretty sure Draco was referring to the art classes. It wasn’t like Draco would expect, or even want, to see him naked at any other point, was it?

 

“I’ll pay,” Draco added, when Harry had made quite enough of a fool of himself by simply gawping and blushing for far longer than was reasonable.

 

Harry snapped his mouth shut and considered the likelihood of Draco actually knowing how to use Muggle money, and then realised it was no more unlikely than him attending a Muggle art class, which had turned out to be a whole lot more likely than Harry had hitherto expected.

 

“Why?” he asked, when he’d given all other responses due consideration. He was still walking, and had now turned down a street that was lined with cafes and small shops, Draco still keeping pace besides him.

 

“Because,” said Draco airily, “We’re both here and we might as well. I might not get another chance to hear exactly why the great Harry Potter is posing completely nude for a Muggle art class.” He paused, gave a sly look out of the corner of his eye and added, “And I’m sure you want to know exactly what I’m doing taking the class?”

 

“What are you doing taking the class?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. It was, after all, a pertinent question.

 

“I want to learn how to draw.” The look of triumph on Draco’s face made Harry very nearly want to punch him. At least it really should have done, instead he found his lips being tugged into an unwilling smile.

 

“And now I’ve answered your question, Potter, you owe me, so come on.”

 

He stopped abruptly, opened the door to the nearest café with a flourish and hustled Harry through the door. He found himself sat at a table before he’d really had time to register that it probably wasn’t a good idea to be going along with this, whilst Draco headed towards the counter with a promise to return with hot chocolate.

 

Harry sat and waited. It seemed to be all he could really do.

 

Well, actually he could probably run for the door whilst Draco’s back was turned, but somehow that seemed like a terribly underhand thing to do, so he sat and he waited, entertaining himself with thoughts of exactly what he was going to say to Hermione and Ron about this later.

 

When Draco returned he was carrying a hot chocolate and a tall glass cup full of a funny coloured, steaming liquid for himself.

 

“What’s that?” Harry asked suspiciously as he sat down, realising that once again Draco had managed to be more elegant and less childish than him even in something as simple as a choice of drink. He wondered vaguely if it came with being rich or if Draco was making a special effort.

 

“Peppermint tea.” Draco took a delicate sip, whilst Harry debated internally whether herbal teas matched the image Draco projected with his clothes or countered it, and decided it was the former. There was something about the way Draco wore his style that suggested poise rather than anything else, even if there was the matter of that earring….

 

“So uh…” Harry paused, realising he had no idea what he was going to say and instead waved a hand when Draco gave him an expectant look. In the end he panicked and went with, “Your clothes. What’s going on there?”

 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Draco’s eyes had narrowed, as if he suspected Harry of making a joke at his expense.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said hastily, anxious not to start a slanging match in the middle of a Muggle coffee shop. “I just mean that if you’re going to dress as a Muggle it’s not very uh… inconspicuous.”

 

Draco smirked, apparently mollified. “I’m not trying to look inconspicuous, Potter, I’m trying to look good.” He gave Harry a smug look and stretched out in his seat like a cat. “Which I do. No need to be jealous, we can’t all go around looking as good as I do.”

 

Harry could think of no reasonable retort, and besides his mouth seemed to have suddenly gone rather dry, so he didn’t deign to respond. Instead he leaned back in his seat and winced as his stiff muscles protested.

 

“Merlin, I didn’t realise this modelling would be so tough,” he groaned, rolling his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension, “Standing still for two hours isn’t as easy as you might think.”

 

Draco gave a rather unsympathetic sneer. “Poor Potter,” he said, “I’m sure the Weaslette will be happy to rub your shoulders for you later.”

 

Harry gave him a frankly incredulous look at that statement. Had Draco actually been living under a rock for the past few years?

 

“I’m gay, Malfoy, didn’t you see the papers?”

 

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Frankly I didn’t believe it,” he said, and then gave Harry a hard, penetrating look as if he expected him to leap up and yell ‘gotcha!’ any moment. When Harry didn’t he eventually shrugged and took another sip of tea. “So it’s true then. In that case, don’t you have a boyfriend who can rub your shoulders for you? Maybe a different Weasley?”

 

Harry was pretty sure he’d turned an interesting shade of pink at that.

 

“You mean Ron? Absolutely not! Merlin, Draco what sort of person do you think I am?”

 

Draco gave him a look that very clearly said,  _you just called me Draco,_  and Harry was forced to attempt a glare that both conveyed his thoughts about the idea of him and Ron but that also said,  _I only called you Draco because ‘Merlin, Malfoy’ sounds ridiculous._  He suspected he’d failed spectacularly when Draco waved another dismissive hand.

 

“Even I know he’s with Granger,” he said airily, raising an eyebrow, “But what about one of the others? There’s quite a selection to choose from, surely one of them is gay?”

 

“Charlie.” Harry had said it automatically before he’d really thought about it. He realised his mistake when Draco gave a sly smirk in response and that elegant eyebrow arched higher.

 

“Charlie Weasley? Really? He’s more your type then is he, Potter?”

 

“Merlin, no!” Harry exclaimed, knowing that by now his cheeks had moved past pink and onto crimson. “He’s just a friend… More like a brother really! I’d never… I’ve never thought of him like that. Ever.”

 

Draco raised the other eyebrow and Harry thought that the situation might be marginally less embarrassing if he had been lying. As it was Charlie was definitely not his type and he had honestly never looked at him in that way. He was far too broad and muscled for Harry’s tastes; he’d never liked the idea of being half crushed by another man. He told Draco so.

 

“Really?” To Harry’s immense relief Draco looked more interested than anything else. “What is your type then, Potter?”

 

Perhaps on reflection he wasn’t relieved after all, because an honest answer to that question might be more revealing than he intended, since a living, breathing example of exactly the type of man Harry found attractive was sitting right opposite him at this very moment, asking the question, no less.

 

“None of your business, Malfoy,” he snapped and then immediately regretted it when just for a second something like hurt flicked across Draco’s face.

 

“I don’t think I have a type,” he said hastily, confused by his own moment of regret. Since when did he care about hurting Draco’s feelings? “Do you?” he added, partly to cover the confusion and partly because he actually wanted to know.

 

Draco sneered. “If I do it’s certainly not Charlie Weasley. I’d like to think my taste runs to something a bit more elegant than that.”

 

Harry found himself nodding thoughtfully and then realised what he was doing. Hell, was he actually agreeing with Draco about something? He resisted the urge to glance out of the window for flying pigs and took a too-large gulp of hot chocolate that made him choke.

 

“I said elegant, Potter.” Draco raised an eyebrow as Harry continued to cough and splutter in a way that really wasn’t helped by that comment. Why did Draco feel the need to make it sound like he was eyeing Harry up as a potential partner, when that was pretty much the last thing he’d be doing? As soon as he’d calmed down enough to worry about his overheated cheeks instead of the fact that he was choking to death Harry attempted a glare. The effect was somewhat ruined when he realised Draco hadn’t finished smirking yet and that Draco’s smirk was suddenly doing funny things to his brain.

 

“So what are you doing posing naked in a Muggle art class?” Draco said, after a few seconds of silently torturing Harry with that smirk and a wicked raised eyebrow.

 

Harry wasn’t sure if this line of questioning was actually less embarrassing, but managed to collect himself enough to mumble, “I lost a bet with Ron.”

 

“Merlin, Harry, what was the bet?” Draco’s expression had actually flitted into surprised sympathy. “Wait, let me guess.” The sympathy was gone and instead he eyed Harry’s hair with amusement. “You bet Weasley you could get your hair to look like something other than a complete disaster and failed miserably.”

 

Harry frowned and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it. Draco shook his head mournfully.

 

“I wouldn’t bother, Potter, I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

 

Harry frowned harder. “Just because I’ve got better things to do than spend hours in front of a mirror messing about with hair charms,” he snapped, glaring at Draco’s own perfectly styled hair, which fell over his eyes in that rather fetching way and looked oh-so-soft and… He blinked and snapped himself out of the train of thought before he could start thinking something highly irrational, like the fact that Draco was gorgeous, and wearing a fucking  _earring_ , and that Harry would probably quite enjoy wiping that smirk off his face in a way that wouldn’t actually involve physical violence, but might certainly involve some bodily contact.

 

Harry realised he was doing it again and took another drink of hot chocolate to hide his blush, careful not to make a spectacle of himself this time. Unfortunately the distraction didn’t work and he was confused enough that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which stupidly turned out to be, “Is it real?” He blushed furiously as he realised the question made no sense and tried to cover it up by gesturing at the offending accessory.

 

“Yes, Potter, of course it’s real,” Draco drawled, his smirk suggesting that he could see right through Harry’s confusion and all the way to the other side, “In every sense of the word.”

 

Oh Merlin, Harry presumed he simply meant it was both a real earring and a real diamond and really wished Draco hadn’t made the words sound quite so lewd and dripping with innuendo. He made an inadvertent noise of horror as his cock twitched and watched helplessly as Draco drained the last of his tea.

 

“Well, Potter, fascinating as this discussion has been, I have things to be doing,” Draco stood up with an easy grace that Harry was forced to admire and shot him a quick, genuine grin. “See you next week.”

 

He left, walking away without looking back, though Harry gazed after him, just to see if he did and not in any way to get another look at that perfect arse. Only when Draco had vanished out the door did Harry turn back to his own drink and contemplate it in silence until long after it had gone cold. Mostly he was contemplating exactly what he was going to do about next week, but part of him couldn’t help but fixate on that grin, and think about how beautiful Draco’s face was when it was there.

 

 

********************

 

“It was Draco Malfoy,” Harry announced dramatically, following up on the declaration that  _“you’ll never guess who that man was,”_ which he’d made to Hermione just a moment earlier. He’d been too impatient to wait to see if she could guess.

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow in what Harry thought was a rather good impersonation of the offending man and said, “Which man? The one you said had a perfect backside?”

 

Oh hell, Harry had actually said that, last week, when he’d thought the classes contained 100% less Draco Malfoy than had turned out to be reality. He groaned and buried his face in his hands, which on reflection, was an affirmation of Hermione’s words, rather than the denial he definitely should have given.

 

“Never mind, Harry,” Hermione said, giving his hand a friendly pat, “Only one more week to go.”

 

Harry looked up and gaped at her, his mind reeling with shock at the realisation that not only was Hermione not jumping up and down in an enraged fashion at the idea that Draco had seen him stark-bollock naked, she also seemed to be expecting him to do so again. Next week.

 

“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, unburying his head to fix her with a look of extreme displeasure.

 

“Serious about what?” Ron had returned from the bar, precariously balancing two pints and a glass of wine, and managing to only spill a little bit as he set them down on the table.

 

“We’re just talking about the fact that Harry will be posing naked at that class again next week,” Hermione told him, wrinkling her nose at the spilt beer and vanishing it with a wave of her wand.

 

“Oh yes.” Ron’s eyes gleamed, but before he could open his mouth to make what he no doubt thought was some hilarious comment, Harry cut him off.

 

“Malfoy’s taking the class.”

 

“What?” Ron looked confused; Harry was rather hoping for more drama than that.

 

“Malfoy. You know.  _Draco Malfoy_ ,” he said, just in case Ron wasn’t getting it. “He’s there, he takes the Muggle art class.”

 

“Why?”

 

“How the hell do I know? I was too busy worrying about my arse being on show.” Of course that wasn’t strictly true, but Harry felt that admitting he’d gone out for a drink with Draco afterwards might be a step too far.

 

As it was Ron’s jaw dropped, and Harry watched as horrified realisation dawned in Ron's eyes. “You mean he’s seen…”

 

There was no need to finish that sentence. Harry gave a miserable nod of the head, confirming that yes, Draco had seen him naked, and took a large gulp of his beer.

 

“You’re not really going back are you?” Ron spluttered, after he’d spent a few minutes opening and closing his mouth, shaking his head and generally looking at Harry with more sympathy than Hermione had done. Harry shot her a significant look and received a frown for his trouble.

 

“Of course he is,” Hermione said, taking a sip of wine. “You two made a bet and Harry has to finish his forfeit.”

 

“I never agreed to get my clothes off in front of  _Draco Malfoy_!” Harry said, a little too loudly. Several people at the next table turned to stare.

 

“I’m with you on that one, mate,” Ron agreed, nodding vigorously. “We’ll find you another class to go to.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to object to that on the basis that he didn’t want to parade naked in front of any more Muggles thank you very much. It would be just his luck that any alternative class would suddenly turn out to be patronised by his cousin, or someone equally unlikely and embarrassing. He didn’t get chance to say anything anyway.

 

“Oh no we will not.” Hermione folded her arms and sat back in her seat, looking just a little too smug for Harry’s liking. “This is what happens when you make stupid little bets that you think are funny. They aren’t. And you end up naked in front of Malfoy, who by the way, you said had a gorgeous backside.”

 

“That was before I knew it was Malfoy!” Harry protested.

 

“It’s still the same backside,” Hermione pointed out, again rather smugly, whilst Ron turned approximately the shade of a tomato. “I’m sure he finds yours equally as fetching.”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” was all Harry could manage as he buried his face back in his hands and tried to ignore Ron’s rather good impression of a goldfish.

 

********************

 

The following week saw Harry back at the class, escorted by a very determined Hermione, who seemed to be delighting in this opportunity to ‘teach them a lesson’ about the stupidity of making bets. He’d been hopeful that her attitude in the pub would soften over the week, and he’d made several appeals to her good nature, pointing out among other things that he wouldn’t make her go back if their situations were reversed. She’d sniffed at that and reminded him that she would never be stupid enough to end up in a situation where she would be naked in front of anyone other than Ron, which had given Harry such an unpleasant mental image that he’d completely failed to think of any follow up arguments.

 

Now he was back in the room where he was expected to get changed into the bathrobe and shortly thereafter expose himself to Draco’s gaze. The fact that Draco had already seen him naked on two other occasions was not making the situation any easier.

 

Harry mumbled a few choice curses at Hermione, who, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily cruel gesture, had relieved him of his wand at the front door to the building, “just in case you’ve got any funny ideas about Apparating away once you’re inside” and told him that it was only a short walk to The Leaky Cauldron where he would be able to Floo to hers and pick up said wand.

 

So now he was here, and there was absolutely no way of escape. Hiding in the toilets until Hermione had gone away had seemed like a reasonable option at first, but Petra had swooped on him almost the moment he’d entered, and escorted him up the four flights of stairs to the classroom chattering away about the weather and some scandal that had obviously been on the Muggle news that Harry knew nothing about.

 

Fake passing out was probably still not an option.

 

Harry let out a heavy sigh, shrugged on the bathrobe and waited to meet his fate.

 

His fate turned out to contain Draco, leaning against his easel, very much in view this week, with his arms folded, smirking at Harry as if all his birthdays had come at once. It really wasn’t fair, Harry reflected, and fuck if Draco didn’t look completely gorgeous with his pale blue dress shirt, and too tight trousers and fitted waistcoat that looked fashionable instead of old-fashioned.

 

Harry forced himself to turn away, swallowing hard and hoping that his blood wasn’t going to rush somewhere horribly embarrassing – a thought that thankfully was horrifying enough to prevent the worry becoming reality. He took his dressing gown off carefully, keeping his back firmly to Draco and arranged himself in his usual pose whilst Petra fussed around adjusting the lighting.

 

It was more difficult than usual to let his mind disengage from the situation. Just knowing that Draco was behind him, probably eyeing his arse in a condescending manner and taking stupid little measurements with his pencil, was enough to set Harry’s nerves on edge. He told himself repeatedly that he was being stupid, and that he’d endured an hour of this last week without practically having a heart attack about it, but he put that down to shock. Now that he wasn’t in shock the situation was about as far from relaxing as it was possible to get.

 

By the time break came around Harry’s muscles ached worse than ever and he donned his dressing gown and fled for the bathroom before he could be dragged into any more embarrassing conversations.

 

The second hour passed even more slowly and the kink in Harry’s neck got worse and worse. Only when he heard Draco pack up and leave did he relax and risk stretching himself out, thankful that the whole thing was over. He never had to do this again. He never had to see Draco again. He never had to be naked in front of him again. It was… it was… well it should be a relief, but somehow, for some reason, it didn’t quite feel like one.

 

Harry put this odd feeling down to a temporary slip of his sanity brought on by spending too long staring at a blank wall. It was probably the reason that when Petra approached him after the class, gushing about what a wonderful model he was, and lamenting the fact that their portrait sitter for next week had broken his nose in a rugby match and wouldn’t be able to attend, and to plead with Harry to take his place, he had actually agreed.

 

He had no idea why he’d done it, but once he’d redressed and was examining some rather odd interpretations of his naked body, displayed proudly by the student artists, Harry could at least comfort himself with the thought that he wouldn’t be naked next week, and that they’d mostly be drawing his face. He wouldn’t have to talk to Draco at all. In fact, maybe Draco would leave in disgust at the idea of putting up with drawing him for another two weeks, though Harry knew that was probably a vain hope. If Draco had put up with looking at his naked arse for three weeks straight, he was probably going to take delight in drawing his face, and quite possibly smirking annoyingly at him the entire time he was doing it.

 

Harry dreaded to think what Draco’s picture, locked away safely in the supplies cupboard, actually looked like and he seriously considered waiting behind to find out, until he remembered that, of course, Hermione had stolen his wand so he had no way to get through the locked door.

 

Instead he decided that it was probably all to the good, since Draco was bound to have depicted him in the most unflattering waypossible, and made his way down the stairs.

 

This time Draco was lying on the wall outside, his knees drawn up, gazing at the sky as if lounging around on walls was something completely normal and everyday. Harry came to a halt and looked at him uncertainly as Draco twisted his head to fix him with a pale stare and a mischievous smirk.

 

“So, Potter, fancy a drink to celebrate your freedom?” he said, in an unlikely turn of events that made Harry blink rapidly to check that this really was Draco Malfoy and he really was asking him, Harry Potter, to join him for a drink.

 

“Uh… I’m coming back next week,” he felt compelled to say, when Draco just continued to regard him mildly as if asking him for a drink wasn’t a completely unexpected turn of events. “You’ve got to paint my portrait,” he added, thinking that this might get some sort of reaction.

 

It did. Draco smirked harder and swung himself down off the wall with easy grace.

 

“Shame, Potter,” he said, “I like you so much better when you’re naked.”

 

He completely ignored the hiss of indrawn breath that came from Harry and instead started ambling away down the path.

 

“Well?” he said after a while, stopping and looking back when Harry did nothing but stand and gape after him. “Are you going to come for that drink or what?”

 

Somehow Harry’s legs started working without the intervention of his brain and he trotted after Draco, falling into step besides him. “Are you really asking me out for a drink?” he asked, when nothing better seemed to present itself. Draco gave him an odd look.

 

“Relax, Potter, it’s just a friendly drink. I’m not planning on getting you drunk and fucking you six ways to Sunday.”

 

Oh sweet Merlin. Harry felt his face turn an interesting shade of red, and he coughed awkwardly to try and hide his embarrassment, whilst next to him Draco smirked and ran his fingers through his hair in what Harry considered to be a very unnecessary way.

 

“Besides, I’ve seen your arse already, remember?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure if you’ve drawn it though,” Harry countered, trying to steer the subject away from fucking and back onto art.

 

“Oh trust me, I’ve drawn it, Potter.” The smug look on Draco’s face was almost unbearable. Harry groaned and ran his own hand through his hair.

 

“Fuck, you’ve made me look like a… like a,” he sought valiantly for a suitable comparison, “flobberworm haven’t you?

 

Draco snorted. “I’ve made you look like you, Potter, if you think you look like a flobberworm then no doubt you’ll think my drawing does too. Personally I was going for something with more limbs.”

 

“Oh Merlin, a Hippogriff.”

 

Draco actually grinned at that. “Maybe a Knarl, with that hair, Potter, but certainly not a Hippogriff.” He suddenly became serious, the grin turning into a frown. “My drawing skills aren’t that bad, you know.”

 

Harry didn’t like to inform him that it was less his drawing skills he was talking about and more the fact that Draco hated him, because actually they’d been getting on pretty well for a second there. He sought around for something else neutral to say.

 

“So um... this drink,” he said, “where are we going?”

 

Draco eyed him critically – apparently appraising his outfit. “Well, since you seem to have made more of an effort with your clothes this week I know somewhere we could go.” Harry blushed, because yes, he had made more effort, going for his nicest pair of black jeans and a casual green shirt that Hermione had bought him for Christmas, but he was absolutely not going to let Draco know that.

 

“These are just my normal clothes, Malfoy,” he said, feigning nonchalance. Judging by Draco’s expression he’d failed miserably.

 

“Whatever, Potter. Did you happen to bring any Muggle money with you this time?”

 

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to admit to that without betraying the fact that he might just have done that on the off chance that he’d end up going out with Draco again after the class.

 

“Good.” Draco nodded approvingly and turned down a side street, forcing Harry to correct his stride in a rather ungainly way. “You’re buying. You owe me.”

 

********************

 

 

Going out for a drink with Draco was not as horrible as Harry had feared it might be. In fact, after consuming several bottles of beer each (because Draco refused to drink any beer that wasn’t in a bottle) they were both slightly tipsy and getting on rather well. At least, Harry thought Draco was probably tipsy, he was definitely on the way there himself and was forced to squint to bring Draco into focus when he appeared at the table with two more beers and two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid that Harry suspected would do him no good at all.

 

“You’re supposed to drink it, Potter, not stare at it,” Draco snorted, when Harry had spent several seconds regarding it suspiciously. “Come on.”

 

He tipped his own glass towards Harry, winked, and then downed the liquid in one. Harry felt compelled to copy him, though he didn’t attempt the wink and the liquid burned down his throat in a way that made him want to cough desperately. He took one look at Draco’s perfectly composed face and then gulped down half a bottle of beer in three quick swallows, hoping to take the sting away.

 

“See, Potter, nothing to it.” Draco’s voice held rather more amusement than Harry thought was really called for. He squinted at him again, realising that Draco was becoming blurrier by the second.

 

“Stop that,” he said severely.

 

“What?” Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. He had undone his top two buttons and rolled up his sleeves, exposing the top of his pale chest and the vivid snake tattoo on his left arm. He looked fuzzy and soft and completely unguarded, which really wasn’t fair because it was making Harry feel terribly unguarded himself and he wasn’t entirely sure he was making sense anymore.

 

“Why’d you get that?” he asked, resting his fingers lightly on the offending tattoo before he’d really considered whether touching Draco was a good idea.

 

Draco shrugged, glancing down at Harry’s hand and then glancing away very quickly. “To cover up the scar. I didn’t want to have to look at it forever.”

 

“Oh.” Harry could think of nothing to say to that. Draco’s skin was surprisingly warm beneath his fingers and he felt no desire to pull away.

 

“If you’re going to molest me, Potter, don’t you think you should take me somewhere more private?”

 

Harry’s head snapped up so fast he was pretty sure he’d suffered whiplash. Draco was looking at him again now, his eyes glinting almost playfully, and those soft, pink lips pulled into a rather wicked smirk. Harry blinked slowly, and then looked down at his hand again, which he hadn’t moved. He felt rather like his brain was submerged in treacle.

 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he said companionably. “If this is your idea of being molested I’d hate to see your idea of sex.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t, Potter, I happen to be rather marvellous in bed.” Harry was pretty sure it was supposed to be a joke, but the way Draco’s gaze was fixed on him, seeming to burn with an odd intensity, suddenly made Harry’s mouth feel very dry.

 

He swallowed hard. “Stop it, Draco.”

 

“What? Don’t tell me I’m offending the sensibilities of the great Harry Potter.” Draco raised both eyebrows this time, which did nothing for Harry’s state of mind. “Anyway, it’s your round, Potter. Go and get the drinks in.”

 

Harry fled for the bar. It was only afterwards that he realised he’d called Malfoy, Draco.

 

********************

 

Several more beers later Harry was definitely feeling worse for wear. Draco had dragged him out of the pub with the declaration that he needed his beauty sleep and the fresh air had done some rather alarming things to his brain. He swayed unsteadily on the spot whilst he tried to remember the problem with going home.

 

“I don’t think you’re fit to Apparate, Potter,” Draco was telling him, appraising him critically, “I’ll Side-Along you.”

 

Ah, Harry finally put his finger on the problem.

 

“No wand,” he told Draco sadly, trying to focus on his face. One of his faces anyway. How many did the man have? “Can’t release the Apper- the Apre- the wards.”

 

“What do you mean ‘no wand’?”

 

“Her-mee. Hermy-on. He-my.” Harry gave up. “Granger took it.”

 

“Granger took it.” Draco echoed.

 

“Yes.” Harry frowned. “That’s what I just said.”

 

“Right.” Draco sighed, as if Harry were the source of all the world’s problems. “Fine. I’ll Side-Along you to mine and then you can Floo home.”

 

“Okay,” said Harry, though Draco apparently hadn’t waited for his agreement because before the word was more than half out of his mouth he felt a firm pressure on his wrist and the sickening twist of Apparation.

 

They landed in what must have been Draco’s house, but it was dark and Harry had no time to register anything other than the fact that it definitely wasn’t the Manor before he felt another tug on his wrist and saw the flare of green flames in the fire.

 

He heard, “Shout your address, Harry,” and felt himself whirled away into the Floo network.

 

It was only once he’d obeyed that he realised, Draco had called him Harry.

 

********************

 

Harry’s living room came into view sooner than he’d expected.

 

“Shit,” he swore as he tripped over his own feet and stumbled across the floor.

 

“Shit.” He’d bumped into something warm and hard, something that gripped him around the waist and steadied him and he realised after a few seconds that it was Draco.

 

“Now who’s molesting who?” he said gleefully, as Draco grunted and attempted to guide him towards the couch.

 

“Honestly, Potter, who would have thought you’d be such a lightweight.”

 

“Hey!” Harry straightened himself up and peered muzzily at Draco, frowning in consternation at the accusations. “I’m not a lightweight. Why do you have to be so… so…” He peered at him more closely and finished off with, “gorgeous?”

 

Draco gaped at him and Harry frowned, rather feeling he’d lost the thread of that insult somewhere along the way.

 

“Merlin, Potter, you really are drunk.” Draco rolled his eyes and half pushed, half pulled Harry down onto the couch, immediately conjuring a glass of water and pressing it into Harry’s hand.

 

“Here; drink this,” he said, rolling his eyes again as Harry managed to spill half of it down his front. He gave a sharp gasp at the cold and downed the remainder of the glass in several large gulps, before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

 

“Very elegant, Potter.” Draco perched himself warily at the other end of the couch. “What’s Granger doing with your wand anyway? Are you not to be trusted with it?”

 

The water had not really made Harry feel any better. He frowned accusingly at Draco and waved his finger at him.

 

“No, not that,” he said firmly, “It’s so I couldn’t run away from you naked.”

 

“Me naked or you naked?”

 

That was too much for Harry to work out whilst drunk, he really had no idea what Draco was talking about.

 

“Were you naked?” He frowned in confusion and tried to get to the heart of the matter. “Are you going to get naked now? I won’t mind if you take off all your clothes.”

 

There was a weird strangled sound from Draco’s direction and Harry frowned at him harder. Really, why was this so difficult? Draco was here in his house and obviously the next step was that they would get naked, and then… then… Harry had forgotten what came next.

 

“Merlin, Potter, you really need to go to bed.”

 

Ah, that was it. Harry nodded firmly. “Naked,” he confirmed, just to get things absolutely clear.

 

“Alone.” Draco sounded equally firm, and when Harry opened his mouth to protest Draco stood up, grasped his wrist and hauled him to his feet in one smooth motion. At least it would have been smooth had not the sudden change in altitude set Harry’s head spinning and his stomach churning. He stumbled, felt Draco’s arms wrap around him and then let blackness engulf him.

 

********************

 

“Harry! Harry, for Merlin’s sake, wake up!”

 

Harry groaned and surfaced from the blackness, only to immediately wish he hadn’t. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him, his mouth felt like he’d licked a shedding Kneazle and when he turned his head to find the source of the noise, he realised it was pounding so hard he thought his skull would split in two.

 

“Ngh,” he managed, realising Hermione was the one stood by his bed, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

 

“Honestly, Harry, what are you doing?” she asked, “Have you forgotten we’re due to pick Teddy up in half an hour? And why didn’t you come by to get your wand last night?”

 

“Ngh,” Harry said again, slightly more panicked this time. His head really was about to explode and Hermione seemed completely oblivious, instead blathering on about some previous arrangement that absolutely was not going to happen anyway. Because he was about to die. Right here, right now. He had a vision of Hermione covered in the remains of his exploded head and felt his stomach roil in protest at the image.

 

“Mff ngh ack,” he tried, which finally seemed to alert Hermione to the fact that something was wrong.

 

“Are you hung over?” she said suspiciously, sniffing suddenly, as if the tell tale scent of alcohol would give Harry away. It probably would, he thought, the scent of the Muggle bar seemed to pervade the room.

 

“Mmmph.” He nodded, wincing and stopping quickly when he realised that the gesture was only going to result in his head falling off.

 

“Oh honestly, Harry.” She turned and strode away, leaving Harry to hope that she would take pity on him and return with a hangover potion. If she didn’t he was surely going to die.

 

She did, though Harry felt that dying might be the lesser evil when he realised that taking the hangover potion necessitated sitting up. He managed it after a while, with some difficulty and Hermione’s help, then gulped down the cool liquid with no small measure of relief.

 

It took several minutes to work, during which Hermione tutted at him several times and displayed absolutely no sympathy with the fact that Harry had only narrowly avoided death.

 

“Better?” she asked, when Harry felt slightly more human and the danger of his head exploding had more or less passed.

 

“Thanks,” he said, feeling he should at least show some gratitude, even if she didn’t entirely deserve it. Actually, wasn’t it her fault he’d been at the art class in the first place? Surely it followed that the fact that he’d gone out with Draco and got drunk was also her fault? He opened his mouth to tell her so and realised that his chest was bare.

 

“He took off my clothes!” It was the first thing that had come to mind, and he only realised he’d said it out loud when Hermione blushed and made a noise that sounded slightly like steam escaping from a kettle.

 

“I don’t particularly want to know, Harry,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster when red faced.

 

“No, you don’t understand,” he said frantically throwing back the bedclothes and swinging himself out of bed. “It was Draco, he took off my clothes!” It seemed fairly obvious to him, though he realised that perhaps he wasn’t quite thinking straight when Hermione squeaked and covered her eyes, just as Harry realised that his chest being naked suggested other things might be naked and glanced down.

 

He still had his jeans on.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief, just as Hermione removed her hands, which actually suggested she’d been peeking anyway, because otherwise how would she know it was safe? Not that Harry minded, he’d lived in a tent with Hermione for fuck’s sake; he had no idea why she was being modest about his state of undress now.

 

“Not all of them,” he said, rather unnecessarily, since that was self-evident.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said, recalling his attention as he sat down on the bed and rubbed his temples. The fog had lifted further now and he was beginning to think a lot more clearly. Unfortunately that meant he was also beginning to recall a lot more clearly. He groaned.

 

“Exactly what’s going on, Harry?”

 

“Oh Merlin, I was so drunk,” he muttered, to which Hermione gave a snort that sounded most unladylike and told him to tell her something she didn’t know.

 

“Draco took me out for a drink, and then I didn’t have my wand and he had to bring me home, and then I think I…. I think I….”  _asked him to take off his clothes._  His voice had already faded away and he groaned again, burying his head in his hands. “I never want to see him again.”

 

“Really?” said Hermione, who was probably more than clever enough to fill in most of the gaps in that explanation. “Did you kiss him?” Maybe not all the gaps. Harry stared at her in horror.

 

“No!” he gasped, thinking that if he had merely never seeing Draco again wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to hunt him down and Obliviate him at the very least.

 

“Well then, nothing to worry about, I’m sure you weren’t that bad,” said Hermione, which just showed how much she knew. “Now you really need to get ready to go; Teddy will be waiting. You have a shower; I’ll make you some tea.”

 

“Hermione, you don’t understand,” Harry tried, in one last attempt to point out the horror of his situation. “I told him I needed to go to bed naked.”

 

“Well, he obviously didn’t take you seriously,” Hermione pointed out, glancing at his jeans, “I really don’t see what you’re worrying about. “

 

Harry thought she’d rather missed the point, but since he couldn’t bring himself to relive the night in any more detail right now, realised he was going to have to leave it. He accepted the wand she handed back to him and took himself off for a shower.

 

********************

 

The next week saw him back at the art class, determined to put a brave face on things. The intervening week had not resulted, as he had first feared, in the Prophet printing ridiculous photos of him drunk and passed out half naked on the bed. Nor had Witch Weekly printed any articles where an ‘anonymous wizard’ told lewd stories about Harry’s behaviour. All was quiet, which meant Draco had decided to keep his mouth shut.

 

In the meantime Harry thought the best course of action was probably to stay as far away from Draco as possible, whilst actually being in the same room as him.

 

It was unfortunate then that the moment he entered the room, Draco turned and gave him a smirk, which said not only, ‘ _I’m not going to let you forget how drunk you were last week’_  but also,  _‘we’ve got a secret that only we share’._  Harry wondered how it was possible for one look to say all that, floundered for a moment in the doorway and then rushed off to get some tea, without smiling back. He was bright red, and breathing far too hard, and really completely unprepared for Draco smiling at him in that way.

 

“I’ve not seen you here before, are you new?” Harry only just managed to stop the tea leaping from his cup as he jerked in surprise. The speaker turned out to be a man who looked only a few years older than Harry, sporting carefully tousled hair and impeccable clothes that reminded Harry of Draco. He was also chiselled and tanned and so conventionally good looking that Harry had to blink several times before he could comprehend anything else.

 

“Oh uh… I’m not taking the class, I’m the sitter,” he explained, setting his cup firmly down on the table and shoving his hands in his pockets to try and hide the fact that they were shaking. He wasn’t sure whether it was nerves or embarrassment at this point, but either way it was best if he kept it to himself.

 

“Oh really, that’s wonderful!” Harry couldn’t see anything particularly wonderful about having to draw him, and so declined to reply. The man did not seem to be put off. “I’m Pete, by the way.”

 

“Harry.” He shook the proffered hand and searched for something to say. “Uh… I’ve not seen you here before.”

 

“Been on holiday. I can’t say I was sorry to miss the life drawing part of the class. Usually it’s some middle aged woman who goes all philosophical on us about our glorious interpretations of the human form.” Pete paused, and frowned. “Though if you aren’t taking the class and you know I haven’t been here before, I’m guessing that it might not have been a middle aged lady this time. Am I right?”

 

Harry blushed. “Uh… my friend volunteered me. It’s not something I’d normally do.”

 

The man laughed, all white teeth and shiny eyes. Harry found the whole thing rather dazzling. “Looks like I picked the wrong time to go on holiday.” He accompanied his words with a licentious wink and Harry blushed deeply, wondering what he’d done to deserve this. He really did not want to be flirted with by the Muggle equivalent of Gilderoy Lockhart.

 

He was relieved when he saw Draco approaching and turned to smile at him. Relief, however, was short lived for Draco brushed past him with a perfunctory ‘excuse me’ and helped himself to some tea.

 

“Draco!” The word slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it.

 

“Oh hello, Potter,” Draco said, the edge to his voice matching perfectly with the derisive look he levelled, first at Harry and then at Pete. Too surprised to say anything else Harry could only watch as he turned and sauntered away as if Harry were the least important person on earth and he hadn’t put him to bed drunk just a week ago.

 

Harry wondered if that were actually the reason for his behaviour; it seemed an odd sort of reason when he’s already greeted Harry with a smile just two minutes previously.

 

“How rude!” Pete muttered, squinting after Draco as he walked away, “What’s the matter with him?”

 

“Uh… no idea,” was all Harry could come up with when he realised an answer was expected.

 

“Well really!” Pete continued, “He might be a little more polite. After all you are a guest and you are doing us a huge favour by being here. We really are grateful.”

 

He laid a hand on Harry’s arm that was most unwelcome, and that, combined with the smile he was giving him, compelled Harry to defend Draco.

 

“It’s all right, I went to school with him,” he muttered, stepping back and shooting another look at Draco, who was now gazing at him with a look of utter disgust.

 

It  _must_  have been his drunken behaviour last week, surely that was the only reason for Draco refusing to talk to him, and why he’d turned his head away the moment Harry caught his eye. The smile earlier must have been meant for someone else, it was simply coincidence Harry had caught his eye at the same time.

 

He realised Pete still had his hand on his arm and stopped back, mumbling something vague about getting ready for the start of class before fleeing in Petra’s direction the moment he was free.

 

********************

 

Unfortunately Harry was safe only until the break when Pete cornered him and talked his ear off about his job, his friends and life in general, giving Harry no chance to talk to Draco.

 

He hardly knew what he would say anyway. Draco was standing with Petra, clutching a cup of tea so hard his fingers had turned white, and shooting occasional murderous glances in their direction. Even with his drunken behaviour, Harry really thought murder was going a little bit too far.

 

Not that Draco seemed to think so. When he left five minutes before the end of class and wasn’t waiting for Harry afterwards Harry didn’t know whether to be disappointed that he wasn’t going to get to talk to Draco, or relieved that he had escaped with his life.

 

********************

 

Having his portrait painted had turned out to be a far more pleasant experience than posing nude, and if it hadn’t been for Draco Harry thought he would rather have enjoyed the whole thing. Of course the sitting still was rather tiresome after a while, but now that he was fully clothed the artists were far more willing to chat with him whilst he was sitting, which somewhat relieved the boredom. It had also turned out that viewing portraits of himself was far less embarrassing than viewing pencil drawings of his naked body. Most of the artists seemed inclined to paint his face in what Harry thought was a rather flattering light, and no one seemed to have made him look thirty years older than he was, or given him an excessively large nose, so overall Harry thought the whole experience was proving to be rather pleasant.

 

At least it would have been if it hadn’t been for Draco’s odd behaviour, and Pete’s all too obvious flirting. The latter he could deal with – his unfortunate fame in the wizarding world made him something of a target for unwelcome flirting – but Draco’s behaviour was annoying. And upsetting.

 

More upsetting than annoying actually. By Tuesday Harry had to admit that he  _was_  upset and that actually he really wanted to go and see Draco and demand an explanation for his behaviour. The problem with that was not only that he didn’t know where Draco lived, but also that he really  _really_ didn’t want to hear about how much he’d embarrassed himself whilst he was drunk.

 

In the end he decided that if he wasn’t going to see Draco then  _logically_  it made sense to do the next best thing – and  _logically_  of course that was to go and take a look at the pictures Draco had drawn.

 

It  _seemed_ logical, right up until Harry was standing in the classroom, at well past midnight, with a weak Lumos providing the only light and the locked door of the storeroom in front of him.  _Then_ it seemed like a horrible invasion of privacy, which was stupid, Harry told himself, because the pictures were of him and therefore didn’t that mean he had a right to see them?

 

He convinced himself that it did, Alohomora’d the cupboard open and started to search for Draco’s work, ignoring the thought that breaking into the college and looking at pictures of himself was not logical on any level – not even on the level of being the next best thing to actually going to see Draco.

 

He found the set of canvases and papers that were labelled with Draco’s name and pulled them out into the main room, spreading them on the floor and increasing the light from his wand so that he could look at them properly.

 

Harry had occasionally entertained the thought that the reason Draco did not want to show him his drawings was that he was no good at art, but that illusion was certainly shattered now. The drawings were quite beautiful. Stunning even.

 

He had been embarrassed to look at the other drawings of him posing naked, but Draco’s was truly a work of art. Harry stood, much as he had been at the time, so that Draco had drawn his back, rather than any of the more embarrassing frontal details, but instead of facing away, as he almost certainly had been, Draco had drawn him looking over his shoulder towards the viewer, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. It was beautiful, and Harry wondered how Draco had managed to draw his face so well when he certainly hadn’t been looking in his direction.

 

He moved on to another picture, this one an oil painting of a middle aged woman who reminded Harry a little of Professor McGonagall. The detail was exquisite and even with his limited knowledge of these things Harry realised that whatever else Draco was he was certainly a talented artist.

 

He moved some more canvases aside. There were a few still lifes, a painting of a house that looked a little like Malfoy Manor, and finally the portrait of Harry, or at least the drawing that was obviously going to become the portrait of Harry.

 

If Harry had thought the first drawing of him was flattering it was nothing compared to this. His likeness stared up at him from the paper, looking both very like him and very unreal at the same time. He looked hauntingly ethereal and whatever he might look like in real life, Harry was pretty sure it was nowhere near as beautiful as the picture. There was something about the way Draco had captured the light in his eyes, and the way his hair fell rakishly over his eyes that made him look better than anything he saw when he looked in the mirror.

 

He gaped at it in awe for a while and then realised that beautiful though the picture was it was getting him no nearer to understanding Draco, nor helping him pluck up the courage to go and visit him, or even to just owl him. Shaking his head to himself Harry packed the pictures neatly away, relocked the cupboard and Apparated away.

 

********************

 

By the time the next class came around Harry wasn’t sure if he was dreading seeing Draco again or looking forward to having the chance to talk to him. What he was certain of was the fact that he had a horrible, teenage-worthy crush on Draco that was only getting worse the more he saw him.

 

The problem was that Draco was ridiculously perfect looking. Perfect hair, perfect arse, perfect diamond-fucking-earring that Harry thought really should be made illegal, and a ridiculously perfect smile – when he consented to actually use it. All in all Harry rather felt that Draco should be the one the class turned into a work of art, not plain old boring Harry Potter with stupid hair that never lay flat.

 

It was probably why, when he entered the room to find Draco already there, flirting with Pete in an all to obvious way, Harry felt his stomach sink to his feet.

 

 _Of course_  that was why Draco had been glaring at him last week.  _Of course_  Draco fancied Pete. Why wouldn’t he? Pete had perfect shiny hair and perfect white teeth and perfect tanned skin.  _Of course_  Draco had been pissed off when Pete had been giving his attention to Harry.

 

Feeling very small and insignificant Harry edged around the room and busied himself with getting a cup of tea, trying to look in any direction, except the one where Draco was now standing with his hand on Pete’s arm and his head bent towards him as if they were sharing the secrets of the universe.

 

********************

 

By the time it came to actually sitting down in front of the class Harry was feeling pretty dreadful about the whole situation and seriously wishing he had never agreed to come back at all. This was actually worse than posing naked. In fact, this was pretty much worse than anything he’d done since the War.

 

He had thought the days of Draco Malfoy being able to wind him up, or lord over him, or make him feel in anyway inadequate were long gone, but it seemed he’d been sadly mistaken.

 

It was his own fault. He’d got carried away with Draco’s oddly compelling good looks and apparent change in attitude, not to mention his weird Muggle fashion sense; and he’d allowed himself to start thinking of Draco as someone he could actually like. Someone he did, in fact, like. Someone he did, in fact, have a crush on.

 

It really was entirely stupid and not altogether Draco’s fault, which only made Harry feel worse because at least at school he could claim the moral high ground. In this situation he knew Draco was well within his right to flirt with Pete and to be annoyed at Harry’s stupid drunken behaviour. It was amazing just how truly awful that made him feel.

 

“Do you want to join us for a drink, Harry?”

 

Harry started out of his reverie by the question and glanced around wildly before he could identify the speaker as Pete.

 

“What?” The word fell from his lips before his brain had really caught up with the situation.

 

“Draco and I are going for a drink after the class, why don’t you come along?” Pete asked.

 

“Uh, right, yes… thanks.”

 

_Shit. Why had he just said that?_

 

It was too late to take it back though and Harry glanced over at Draco, only to find that he was hidden behind his canvass and obviously not inclined to make eye contact. Harry wondered exactly how annoyed Draco was that Pete had invited him along on their date and blurted out the first thing that came to mind that might make it better.

 

“Jenny, why don’t you come with us? And anyone else actually. It’s my last day here, let’s all go out.”

 

Much to Harry’s relief Jenny actually took up the offer enthusiastically, and roped in two of the other girls in the class, which made him feel slightly less embarrassed that he had now turned Draco’s date into group outing, whilst also giving him the relief of knowing he was not going to be a third wheel.

 

He glanced over at the easel that hid Draco, only to find that this time he wasn’t hiding. Instead he was leaning around it and looking at Harry with a gaze that Harry could only describe as both puzzled and suspicious, leaving Harry more confused than ever.

 

********************

 

The second half of the class arrived almost before Harry realised. Draco had monopolised Pete’s attention during the break, and whilst Harry didn’t care to have any of Pete’s attention, he would rather have liked some of Draco’s. Instead he resigned himself to chatting politely to some of the others in the class and trying not to look over at where Draco stood  _too_  often.

 

At least after the break the others in the class seemed more inclined to talk and, perhaps spurred on by the knowledge that they would be meeting socially afterwards, Jenny was leading the conversation, asking Harry all sorts of questions about his life. In truth, Harry was rather glad to have something to occupy himself with other than his own brooding, which was possibly why he found himself being strangely honest about his upbringing and early childhood – or at least as honest as he could be with Muggles

 

“So you lived with your aunt and uncle?” Jenny asked, after Harry had spun out the old story about his parents being killed in a car crash when he was a baby.

 

He nodded and then felt compelled to add, “They weren’t very happy about it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jenny was giving him an odd look, which Harry thought was probably justified.

 

“I mean my aunt and uncle didn’t like having to look after me much. Er… they didn’t get on with my parents so they didn’t like having me dumped on them. They weren’t very nice to me.”

 

“Gosh!” Jenny was looking at him in shocked sympathy, which wasn’t really an emotion Harry had meant to induce. All the same he plunged on, wondering why his mouth seemed to be running away with him and revealing things he had never really meant to reveal to a bunch of strangers.

 

“They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs.”

 

“Did they really?” asked Draco suddenly entering into the conversation, making Harry realise in one heart-stopping moment exactly why he’d been revealing these details.

 

“Yes.” Harry was surprised enough that he answered without thought, but then added. “Why do you think I looked so happy to be going to school?”

 

“Everyone was happy to be going to our school. Is this why you didn’t know anything about… er, anything?” Draco seemed to have remembered their audience towards the end and smiled sheepishly at Harry, the friendliest gesture Harry had seen from him all night. He grinned back through sheer relief and held Draco’s gaze, feeling suddenly like Draco was the only one in the world with whom he shared this deepest of secrets.

 

“I’m sure he knew something,” Jenny piped up, in a tone that reminded Harry rather of Hermione when Ron was being stupid. “Honestly, Harry, did he always say such weird things at school?”

 

Harry started as the moment was broken and laughed. He gave Draco a quick glance to check his reaction, but Draco was simply smiling mildly as if being called weird did not offend him in the slightest.

 

“I’ve no idea,” said Harry, his relief at Draco’s friendliness spurring him to new heights of honesty. “We didn’t really speak at school.”

 

“Why notl?” Jenny naturally looked surprised.

 

“Not unless you count insulting each other,” Harry said, and glanced at Draco again. He had stepped around and was leaning against his easel with his arms folded, his eyes glittering softly as he regarded Harry with a curiously fond expression.

 

“Were you horrible to him, Draco?” Jenny demanded suddenly, rounding on him. Draco jerked as if he had forgotten anyone else was in the room and unfolded his arms.

 

“Why is it you assume I was the one who was horrible and not him?” he said mildly and stepped back out of Harry’s sight.

 

“Because.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “You look like a bad boy.” She said the words ‘bad boy’ more as if she was referring to a naughty child than anything that might hold a certain sex appeal and Harry couldn’t help but snigger.

 

“I’m glad you find it funny, Potter,“ came Draco’s voice from behind his canvas. He sounded annoyed, but only slightly. “I’m sure if our positions were reversed you’d have been as much of a bastard.”

 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t!” Harry exclaimed hotly before he’s really thought about it. Draco’s head poked out from around his canvas and he regarded Harry critically.

 

“No,” he said, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

 

Silence reigned.

 

Draco and Harry eyed each other for a long moment and Harry thought this was probably one of those times he often read about where people talked with their eyes; except he had no idea what Draco was trying to say and even less idea what he was saying himself.

 

Eventually the silence was broken by Pete, who asked some mundane question about Harry’s job and to Harry’s distress the frosty look returned to Draco’s eyes and he withdrew behind his canvas, clearly annoyed that Pete was talking to Harry again and not to him.

 

All the same Harry could not ignore the question without appearing terribly rude and he was forced to elaborate on his supposed job as a policeman, somewhat relieved that there were no real policemen in the room to point out the flaws in his descriptions.

 

********************

 

To Harry’s surprise, Draco remained at his canvas until the very end of class – Harry supposed it was because he had made arrangements to go out and could hardly have everyone think he was leaving. It meant that for once Harry was going to get to see his completed work and despite the fact that he had already seen the original pencil drawing Harry was more excited by the prospect than he knew was sensible.

 

He took his time looking at the others, which were of varying quality. Pete’s rendition was rather bizarre. He had not added Harry’s glasses despite the fact that Harry knew he’d had them on all along, and he looked more like a doll or a statue than a real human being with flaws. Even his scar looked unreal.

 

Another lady whose name Harry couldn’t remember had an odd painting style that seemed to include emphasising his scar until it was so large and red it took up half his forehead, and when he asked about it said she was ‘trying to capture the pain that had made him who he was today,’ which Harry thought was rather ironic considering she knew nothing about the real story behind his scar. It was with some relief that Harry moved on.

 

He took his time getting to Draco’s picture, and when he did he was not disappointed. Draco stood off to one side looking completely disinterested as Harry examined his work. To Harry’s slight relief the ethereal quality of the drawing had vanished beneath the paint, making him seem more human and more like himself. In fact, Harry thought he had never looked more like himself. Unlike the woman Draco really did seem to have captured exactly who Harry was, although how he’d done it Harry couldn’t quite say. It was something in the expression and something in the way his hair fell and the colours on his skin, and it was a good couple of minutes before Harry realised the painting was inaccurate in one fundamental way.

 

Draco hadn’t painted his scar.

 

He wanted to ask about it but Petra was already directing everyone to tidy up and Draco moved away to clean his things, giving Harry no chance to even compliment him on his work.

 

********************

 

By the time the small group arrived at the pub Harry was extremely glad he had thought to ask the others along. Draco had firmly planted himself next to Pete for the entire walk, leaving Harry to the company of the girls, which was all very well, right up until the moment they all dived for the toilets leaving Harry to join Draco and Pete in the search for a table.

 

They located an empty booth and Pete slid into one of the seats. Harry certainly didn’t want to sit next to him if it was going to piss Draco off and he definitely didn’t want to be a third wheel sitting opposite them.

 

“I’ll get the drinks,” he announced, and fled for the relative safety of the bar, leaving Draco to decide on the seating arrangements. It was only when he came to order that he realised he had no idea what Pete might drink, but in the end ordered him a beer on the basis that it required the least amount of thought.

 

When he returned to the table clutching the bottles defensively he was surprised to see that Draco had taken the seat opposite Pete rather than next to him, and was now eyeing Harry as if waiting for his next move. Pete on the other hand was definitely eyeing him in the hope that Harry would sit down next to him, something which he chose to ignore as he slid into the seat next to Draco and handed out the beers.

 

Draco looked momentarily surprised by this development and then gave Harry the sort of winning smile that made his heart flip in his chest. He felt like he’d passed some sort of test and he smiled back rather giddily, wondering if this was what it was like to be put under some sort of enchantment, or to drink a love potion. He felt bizarrely like he was floating out of his own body for a moment and only came back down to earth at the sound of a sudden cough from the other side of the table.

 

It was Pete and he looked seriously put out. Draco smirked and tipped his bottle towards Harry before taking a long drink, and Harry, busy watching the line of Draco’s throat and the way his hair fell across his eyes, really couldn’t have cared less what Pete thought in that moment.

 

He was snapped out of the feeling by the reappearance of the girls, who slid into the booth, forcing Harry to move towards Draco. Draco didn’t budge and Harry ended up with his thigh pressed against Draco’s, their shoulders bumping together in a way that sent a thrill down Harry’s spine. He knew he was being stupid allowing himself to feel like this, but the heat he could feel radiating from Draco’s body seemed to push all rational thoughts from his mind.

 

Three beers later Draco was still in the same position, except now he’d rolled up his sleeves and his bare forearm kept brushing against Harry’s, making the hairs there stand on end. Under the cover of Jenny’s chatter about something he wasn’t really interested in, Harry decided to take the plunge.

 

“You’re a very good artist.”

 

Draco started, and blinked, before giving Harry a slow sort of smile that had him wondering exactly how quickly the alcohol was going to Draco’s head.

 

“You’ve only seen one of my paintings.” Harry shifted and tried not to look too guilty. “Unless of course you’ve been sneaking around doing magic in Muggle places,” Draco added, dropping his voice to a whisper, his lips suddenly startlingly near Harry’s ear.

 

“You never let me look at them!” Harry blurted out, shifting uncomfortably and desperately trying not to turn red, or have any reaction at all to the fact that he could feel Draco’s breath ghosting over his skin. His outburst was loud enough that the entire table turned to look at him and to his regret – or possibly relief – Draco subsided back into his seat.

 

“They were very good anyway,” he muttered when conversations had resumed.

 

He swivelled his head to look at Draco, who was staring at him with that same fond expression he’d given him back during the class and it gave him the courage to ask, “Why didn’t you paint my scar?”

 

Draco looked away, and shrugged and for a moment Harry thought he wasn’t going to bother answering. After he’d spent what seemed like an eternity twisting his beer bottle through his fingers a slight frown appeared.

 

“I though you might be tired of people defining you by your scar,” he muttered, “Don’t you ever wonder who you’d be without it? I know I do.”

 

From the way Draco glanced at his arm with the tattoo-covered Dark Mark, Harry guessed he wasn’t just referring to his lightning bolt scar with that statement. He opened his mouth to say something, anything that might sound comforting, or reassuring, or just vaguely intelligent, but Draco’s head snapped up suddenly.

 

“Let’s get shots!” Before anyone could react he’d somehow managed to vault over the back of the booth and had disappeared towards the bar.

 

********************

 

Harry had rather lost track of how much alcohol he’d consumed. All he knew was that he was feeling really quite drunk, although not as drunk as he had been two weeks ago thanks to the presence of his wand. He’d managed to surreptitiously turn some of his drinks into plain water, something which Draco had obviously failed to do, judging by the way he was currently grinning at Harry and crowding him against the wall.

 

Harry shifted to try and put some space between their bodies, but Draco, who had cornered him outside the toilets for some drunken reason of his own, shuffled closer until his entire body was pressed up against Harry’s side.

 

The position was doing Harry no good at all and his body was having an unfortunate reaction to the proximity.

 

“Come on, take me home,” Draco drawled happily, poking him in the stomach for emphasis. “We can have sex.”

 

Harry gaped, feeling that semi-permanent flush start to creep up his neck again. Draco frowned in confusion and waved an unsteady finger,

 

“I’ss not what I mean,” he slurred, “We can have… that stuff... whassit called? Brown. Drink it.”

 

“Coffee?” Harry supplied, frantically hoping that Draco was too drunk to notice that his cheeks weren’t the only thing filling with blood at the thought of sex with Draco.

 

Draco’s frown deepened. “You don’t like coffee,” he slurred accusingly, “Why would I give you coffee? I don’t hate you anymore, Harry. Quite like you actually. Come back to mine.”

 

He smiled, a genuine, if drunken smile, and Harry found himself enchanted once again. Draco was all sharp angles and hard edges, wrapped up in layers of untouchable elegance and derisive sneers, right up until the moment he smiled. When Draco smiled Harry felt as if he could touch his soul.

 

“I have hot chocolate,” Draco continued, and his look turned speculative, as if he was trying to work out the reasons for Harry’s reluctance so he could find some way to overcome them. The problem was that Harry’s reluctance was more to do with the fact that he wanted to do unspeakable and impossible things to Draco, whilst Draco didn’t want him at all. It was starting to eat away at Harry’s insides and he knew he needed to put a stop to it for the sake of his own sanity.

 

“I’m going to take you home, Draco,” he said eventually, mentally stealing himself for what he knew was coming.

 

“You see; I knew you would!” Draco bestowed him with a surprisingly radiant smile. It wasn’t an expression Harry had thought Draco capable of, until he’d actually seen it.

 

“I’m not sleeping with you,” he said firmly, just to make things clear. “I’m putting you to bed by yourself.”

 

The smile turned into a frown. “Who said I wanted to fuck you?”

 

“Oh.” Harry felt the crushing weight of embarrassment bear down on him in one sudden, solid lump. Had he entirely misread Draco’s mood?

 

“I mean, I do want to fuck you, but I don’t remember mentioning it,” Draco continued, his eyes focussed somewhere over Harry’s shoulder as if he were merely talking to himself. “I’m sure I didn’t mention it.” He screwed up his face into a puzzled frown. “Did I?”

 

The relief Harry felt at the fact that he hadn’t misread the situation lasted only until he realised that being right meant he was  _still in_ this situation, where Draco wanted to sleep with him and he was slightly drunk and more than a little attracted to Draco and half inclined to just go along with the whole thing.

 

“I’m not going to be your quick fuck, Draco. I’m not like that, “ he said, feeling that he was trying to convince himself more than Draco. Draco stared at him in drunken concern, the frown still marring his features.

 

“I’m not out for a quick fuck, Harry, otherwise I’d have taken you up on your offer when you were pissed.”

 

“Exactly,” said Harry, grasping onto this fact as it floated past in the current of confusion, “And you didn’t. Which just shows that you’re only doing this now because you’re drunk and there’s no one else.”

 

Somewhere in the depths of his mind the small part of him that was still sober tried to point out that this was not entirely logical. The problem was that the majority of his mind was heavily under the influence of quite a lot of alcohol and logic had long since been abandoned. Draco couldn’t possibly like someone like him. This was the main point that Harry needed to be absolutely clear on.

 

“I like you, Potter,” Draco slurred suddenly, a happy smile appearing on his lips as he slung an arm over Harry’s shoulders. “Now why don’t you take me home?”

 

Harry Apparated them away simply because that smile was throwing him so far off balance he could think of no alternative.

 

Only when they landed in Draco’s living room, with Draco stumbling inelegantly and Harry feeling like he was going to throw up did he realise that he was in the one place he really shouldn’t be. With Draco fawning over him – his arm now firmly wrapped around Harry’s waist – and his own desires raging through his body, this was really not a very sensible place to be in.

 

“I need to use the bathroom. Wait here.” Draco extracted himself from Harry’s hold and with surprising coordination manhandled him down onto the sofa before exiting the room, presumably to use the bathroom.

 

Harry found himself alone, confused and staring vaguely at a picture of a landscape hung above the fireplace. He was almost certain Draco had painted it himself.

 

It took a few minutes for his brain to catch onto the fact that he was in Draco’s house, and even longer for it to realise that Draco’s house looked as normal and comfortable as Harry’s own, and that was followed by the realisation that Harry should be in his own house, not here at all.

 

Now was his chance to get out of this situation and not end up sleeping with Draco and seriously regretting it. He could leave right now and none of it would happen. He Apparated away quickly, before Draco could come back and ruin his brilliant plan.

 

********************

 

In the cold light of morning Harry’s plan did not seem so brilliant after all. Why hadn’t he slept with Draco? What would have been the actual problem? Draco was, against all the odds, handsome and rather brilliant and way out of Harry’s league. A drunken fuck was the best he could hope for and quite frankly would have been rather welcome after spending weeks lusting after Draco and his rather perfect arse.

 

Too late now though. Harry had to make do with a frustratingly mediocre wank and a cold shower, and over breakfast gave himself a firm talking to about why exactly one night stands were not a good idea and why shagging Draco Malfoy of all people was an exceedingly bad idea.

 

********************

 

“What!?”

 

Hermione’s screech caused several people in the pub to turn and stare openly, making Harry slide even further down in his seat. He wasn’t sure if the screech, or the way Ron was slowly turning redder and redder was actually worse. At least Hermione didn’t look as if she were about to explode, possibly because that screech indicated she already had.

 

“Hermione,” Harry grumbled attempting to make himself as inconspicuous as possible by hiding behind his pint glass. “Keep it down would you?”

 

“Sorry.” Hermione at least had the grace to look contrite as she glanced over at Ron, who didn’t yet seem to have recovered the power of speech. She gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow and he turned to gape at her as if she were the one who had just confessed to her best friends that Draco had wanted to sleep with her and that she actually quite fancied him.

 

But of course, she hadn’t at all. Harry was the one who had done that.

 

“So why didn’t you?” she asked, when she had glared at Ron long enough that he had snapped his mouth shut and rearranged his features into something that Harry thought was supposed to be calm understanding. It was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was still bright red, but Harry was at least grateful that he was making the effort.

 

“What do you mean?” he said, narrowing his eyes at Hermione. “Are you saying I should have  _let_  him use me?”

 

Hermione looked scandalised, as Harry had known she would. He grinned and Hermione relaxed.

 

“I’m just saying maybe he wasn’t using you. Maybe he really did want you.”

 

Now it was Ron’s turn to look scandalised.

 

“This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about!” He looked frantically between the two of them, as if they might have forgotten this important fact. “Draco Malfoy!” he repeated, just to make sure, “You’re well out of that one mate, he’d probably have hexed your balls off.”

 

Harry screwed up his nose in distaste and nodded vigorously, giving Hermione what he hoped was a look that said he thoroughly agreed, even though deep down inside he didn’t. Yes, he thought Draco would have used him for sex and then never spoken to him again, but he didn’t actually think he’d do anything malicious.

 

Apparently Hermione knew anyway because she gave him her patented withering stare.

 

“Look at the evidence,” she began, in the no-nonsense voice that suggested she had given this some careful consideration and come to a  _logical_ conclusion. “He takes you out for drinks. He drew what you claim is a perfect portrait of you, and then asks you back to his. Plus he didn’t take advantage when you were drunk. I think he  _likes_ you, Harry!”

 

“He’s Draco Malfoy!” Ron squawked, clearly believing they needed to be reminded again. “He doesn’t like anybody. Least of all Harry!”

 

“If he hates Harry so much, why would he want to sleep with him?” Hermione said triumphantly. Ron gaped.

 

“Because he’s Draco Malfoy! He probably goes around picking up any bloke he can find.”

 

“In that case he could have had that other man, couldn’t he, Harry?” Hermione said, glancing at something over Harry and Ron’s shoulders. “What did you say his name was?”

 

“Pete,” Harry supplied, and wondered if he should turn around. There was something he didn’t quite like about the look on Hermione’s face…

 

“No one in their right mind would sleep with Pete.”

 

Harry jumped, let out a very undignified yell and spilt half his pint on the table. Behind him there was a familiar laugh.

 

“This is why you should drink beer out of bottles, Harry,” said the voice.

 

“It’s Draco Malfoy!” announced Ron, rather unnecessarily.

 

“Yes, thank you, Weasley, I think it’s well established that I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, his tone laced with enough amusement that Harry wondered how long he’d been standing there and exactly how many times he’d heard Ron say that in the past five minutes.

 

“Hello, Malfoy, won’t you join us?” Hermione said pleasantly, vanishing the mess Harry had made, whilst he frantically tried to school his features into something resembling mild surprise, and not pants-wetting, heart-attack inducing panic.

 

By the time he felt equal to glancing up, Draco had moved around to stand next to him and was smiling politely at Hermione.

 

“No thank you, Granger, I just need to talk to Harry. Come on, Harry, let’s step outside.”

 

His fingers closed around Harry’s wrist and Harry found himself rising to his feet without really thinking about it. He gave his friends one last look of desperation – Hermione was smiling happily and Ron was opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, and both were apparently completely useless, and he was so going to kill them later – and then he was being pulled towards the door by a very determined Draco.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, when he’d recovered the power of speech and managed to shake of Draco’s grip. They were already outside in the alley next to the pub and Harry was not feeling very comfortable.

 

“Talking to you,” Draco said, as if this were extremely obvious. He was wearing that waistcoat again, Harry noticed, and his diamond earring was glinting in the streetlight in a rather disconcerting manner. He was hopelessly attractive and Harry thought it was rather unfair that his childhood nemesis should have been blessed with so much basic sex appeal.

 

Draco pushed a hand though the hair that was falling in front of his eyes and glared unexpectedly.

 

“Why did you leave?” he demanded, startling Harry so much with his change of attitude that for a moment all he could do was splutter indignantly.

 

“I told you I wasn’t about to be your one night stand!” he snapped, when he’d recovered enough to form a coherent sentence. “I’m not your substitute for Pete!”

 

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry, I have no desire to sleep with Pete!”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed what Draco was saying, but on the off chance it was true then there was one very important point that Harry needed to make.

 

“Fine, so you didn’t want him. Does that mean all that flirting was because you didn’t want me to have him either? That’s ridiculous Draco!” He frowned, but stopped after a moment and looked away, casting his eyes down to the floor in the face of Draco’s suddenly steely glare. “I didn’t want him anyway,” he muttered, embarrassed that Draco might think so. “He’s awful.”

 

“Yes, I know, and I figured as much. “ Draco sounded amused now, and when Harry risked a glance he discovered that he also  _looked_ amused. “Who do you want then?”

 

“Who says I have to want anybody?” Harry snapped, feeling embarrassment heap on top of embarrassment. The conversation was really not going the way he would have liked. In fact, he’d have been much happier with no conversation at all.

 

Draco sighed. “Let me make this easier on you, Harry. It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to have him, it was more that I didn’t want him to have you.”

 

“Uh… what?” This was far too much for Harry to untangle in his present state.

 

“Honestly Harry, you deserve better than some idiotic Muggle who flirts with everything that moves.” Draco rolled his eyes and to Harry’s surprise raised his eyebrows. “Oh come on, Harry, surely even you can work out that I wanted to keep him away from you so I could have you.”

 

“So you did want to sleep with me!” Harry said triumphantly, feeling vindicated at last.

 

“Yes!” Draco sounded equally triumphant, but then he frowned again and regarded Harry seriously. “For fuck’s sake, Harry, not like that. I was thinking slightly more long term than just a one night stand.”

 

Harry frowned, and tried to wrap his mind around exactly what Draco was saying. He had a feeling there was something clever he should say right now, but it seemed to have got stuck somewhere between his brain and the fact that Draco was standing in front of him, an image of untouchable perfection in the fading evening light, declaring that he did in fact…

 

“What are you saying?” was all he could come up with in the end.

 

“Merlin, Harry, you’re so incredibly stupid,” Draco murmured, the sudden affection in his voice taking all the sting out of the words. “I’m not sure even the fact that you’re unspeakably gorgeous can make up for your stupidity.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, closed it when he realised he wasn’t sure which part of the declaration he was actually disagreeing with and settled for gaping at Draco instead.

 

Draco chuckled and reached up, sliding his hands up Harry’s jaw until his fingers were laced into Harry’s hair. His eyes dropped closed and he tugged gently, forcing Harry to tilt his head back just a little.

 

“Merlin, Harry, you have no idea what looking at you naked did to me, do you?” Draco murmured.

 

Harry gaped a little more and finally managed, “But you always say I look like… like…” He couldn’t think of the words to finish, but Draco supplied them.

 

“A mess? A disaster? An uncultured slob?” he suggested, those grey eyes gleaming in amusement. “You do Harry. It’s completely disgraceful that anyone as untidy as you can look quite so gorgeous but you do and it drives me crazy and… oh hell.” He paused and swallowed, his face suddenly serious, all trace of amusement gone. “I’m going to kiss you now, and I’d very much appreciate it if you’d just shut up and kiss me back.”

 

“I um…” Harry began then realised what he was doing and decided to shut up instead and reach up to lace one hand in Draco’s perfect hair.

 

 _Later_ , he thought dizzily as Draco’s soft lips pressed gently against his,  _I’ll probably get to take a look at that perfect arse as well_. That was for later though. Right now there was this and this was perfection.

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